


The Second Coming

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Jughead Jones, Fae Magic, Family Drama, Fate & Destiny, Human Betty Cooper, Jason Blossom Being an Asshole, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, the Blossom twins are creepy close, the Cooper girls have a complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-22 04:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty lowers the knife back to her thigh, the fae watching closely from his perch. They’re five feet apart, yet that distance could vanish in the blink of an eye. Just like her sister did.Betty enlists the help of an enigmatic fae called Jughead to find her missing sister Polly. The enchanted forest has never felt so alive, and under the watchful gaze of Jughead, neither has Betty.





	1. When I first saw you

**Author's Note:**

> Another [Hozier song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOLwWyerOHM), another fic. The title comes from the poem the song is based off of. Hopefully you'll enjoy the moody fantasy of this world and let me know how you like it ^-^ Thanks to @jandjsalmon for teaching me that the Vale is capitalized, among the other infinite duties she's patiently gone through as this fic's beta. She's definitely a fairy godmother.

Betty’s breath shudders unevenly as she bends down to skim her fingers over wildflowers. Amidst the sea of purple and white petals, she’s searching for the proper lush foliage to pay tribute to her father. Part of her wants to lay here forever. Let the flowers shade her face, inhale their perfume and watch the clear blue sky pass while it delivers her from the gloom.

But there aren’t enough hours or days to while away in misery, not if she intends on being able to put food on her own table.

Diligent, resigned, she begins her selection. Just a small bough, she thinks. Her father was always a minimalist. Her sister was the one who wanted grand arrangements that would take up the whole sill, who would thrust up the bouquet to Betty’s nose for the faintest whiff before pulling it away to cradle it against her own chest, crushing the petals in her reverie.

Betty wonders if Polly is still picking flowers, wherever she is.

It’s been a while since Betty’s had time to harvest or enjoy the meadow, let alone dwell on her sister’s disappearance. Sorrow weighs heavily on her shoulders. A moment, she thinks. All she needs is a moment. To gather her thoughts, to gather these flowers.

A flickering motion catches her eye from the boughs ahead, just on the edge of the forest. A butterfly emerges, its tiny wings so light and innocent that she stills in respect for its plight. Such silent flyers, butterflies. So beautiful and serene. Their gentleness makes her feel safe somehow, even when she has nothing but her fishing knife strapped to her thigh and a dried bunch of apples in her home.

It settles somewhere in the field before popping up again, hovering in search of whatever nectar it needs.

The rustling of a few stems reminds her of her purpose in the meadow. Seeking the right flowers takes her mind off of things, the prickle of thorns and leaves almost as welcome as the sweet perfume on their petals.

The flutter of wings draws her attention to a flower to her right. A white daffodil. The butterfly climbs along its petals as if persuading the bloom to open its sweet yellow center just for her.

_Beautiful_ , she thinks, raising her skirt so she can crawl forward and get a better look. The butterfly nervously spreads its wings at the edge of the piston.

She almost smiles at it, reassuring it that she won’t get too close.

“That your flower?” she asks, always careful of certain boundaries in nature.

From years of flower markets, she knows the butterfly has chosen something that means please return my affection, unrequited love, uncertainty, and new beginnings. Maybe it’s an omen. Possibly a horrible one, because a single daffodil is meant to preclude misfortune, whereas a bunch are a sign of future prosperity. The potential bounty of her fortune fades away when she hears a far-off hum.

The same song they used to sing before a storm.

Head jerking towards the sound, Betty traces it to the hanging curtain of a willow tree. It’s like someone’s moving back there beyond the creeping leaves, their voice getting farther and farther away.

“Polly?” Betty clings to the name in fear. “Polly?!”

Scrambling up, Betty feels the flowers rock back against her ankles as she runs through the meadow towards the song of her long-lost sister, the butterfly shooting up in surprise.

As Betty gets closer to the weeping willow, she thinks she sees blonde hair between the leaves. “Polly, is that you?”

“I’m coming!”

That’s Polly. That’s her sister, even if her voice was aimed in the opposite direction, Betty would recognize it anywhere. She found her. She _needs_ her.

Although Betty’s always tried to play it safe when it comes to the forest, the threat of its enchantments isn’t enough to scare her away from the chance of finding Polly.

The soft reassuring whispers of her sister carry Betty further into the woods.

“Polly! Wait!” she calls, her throat tight and desperate.

The sounds fade in and out like the filtering light through the canopy. Even her own footfall sounds far away. Trying to steady her trembling breath, Betty lets her hand rest upon the trunk of a tree. It feels more alive than it should—almost as if its energy sparks back at her skin. Her palm stings, the red welts from her past pressed into lines, a map on her body. Still, she persists, passing branches tied like little pyres, abandoned in the woods as if waiting to be struck by lightning to engulf the woods in pockets of flame.

Soon enough, the peaceful forest ambience fades to something that makes her uneasy. Swaying toadstools that raise like boils on the forest floor. Fluttering of wings without a bird’s song. A persistent, slicking shadow just out of her peripheral.

These aren’t the butterflies Polly used to tease, looking for a pretty place to land. In the meadows by the forest, they’d weave flower crowns and try to lure the creatures into landing on the tips of their noses. One time, a butterfly had bypassed the tempting flora and landed right on Betty’s lips, strode along her smile like it wanted to gather and spread it along with whatever pollen it had for the day. Polly made such a scene that Betty almost wiped it away on instinct.

With some quick thinking, Betty gently blew on her new friend, urgently whispering, “Go,” until it took the hint and escaped before the oils from their skin would ruin its wings.

The feather-light numbness of shame stayed with her all day.

That moment with the butterfly had given her more joy in a moment than her sister had all week. It chose her. It was strange and sweet and she couldn’t possibly live with herself if she lured it back only for her sister’s jealousy to strike it down. Polly ranted at her for wanting something as simple as a butterfly kiss. Whatever momentary happiness Betty had wasn’t worth her sister being upset.

They didn’t tempt the butterflies after that, and she doesn’t know why Polly is tempting the forest and its fae now.

Marching on, Betty follows her heart, praying it will lead to her sister, cataloging how she moves into the forest so she can hopefully find her way—their way home.

Time fades away. Her eyes and ears strain from searching the forest for clues, and she pauses, finally, amidst a shady grove, tracing the faint shape of a handprint in the moss, the fingers far too willowy and long for them to belong to Polly. The bark feels almost dewy and warm, but there hasn’t been any rain. Pressing her palm within the imprint, Betty wonders if it belongs to whomever her sister was responding to.

It feels like someone’s here.

Betty looks around and sees absolutely no one, no other traces of her sister, nor of her sister’s companion. Teeth worrying into her lip, she tries not to let herself panic and focuses instead on the feel of the handprint beneath hers. Most likely a male's, if the size is anything to go by. Maybe Polly’s lover.

The thought doesn’t sit well with her, even though the moss and wetness is comfortable against her fingers, almost like it’s pulling her in, embracing her touch. For a second, it's really _like_ that, a warmth under her fingertips, a flutter against her cheek and the crackle of a few leaves.

Gasping, Betty retracts her hand.

Someone was here. They had to be nearby.

There’s a knot, a giant singed wound in a nearly-fallen tree, vines slithering like serpents coiled in waiting while light pink buds burst out of fits of grass as if they’ll spring open at any given moment.

Rustling leaves send a chill down Betty’s spine, her blood running cold. Fingers twitching, she moves for the concealed dagger strapped to her thigh.

The forest is moving. The heart of it is alive and Betty can _sense_ it.

She feels a foreign gaze like wet fingers sliding possessively over her shoulder blade.

Betty fights the instinct to close her eyes, to hide until the creature passes, just as she did as a child in a thunderstorm. That familiar fear rumbles in her heart. There is nowhere to climb, only to run, to hide.

To fight.

The material of her shift feels gauzy, insubstantial, as she pulls it aside, the bare flesh of her thigh speckled with sunlight and shade like the leaves themselves are trying to imprint on her skin. Sinking into the reassurance of a blade in hand, Betty watches the woods, her dagger glinting sharply as she winds carefully through the sunlight, seeking the source of her company.

A veil of flora she doesn’t remember seeing twists just to the side.

Betty watches in mute fascination as long, tapered fingers push aside the thick, prickly foliage with the ease of pulling back a curtain. There’s a glow to the skin, almost greenish-yellow, vibrant, like spring, based in olive absorption of the sun. This creature is elegant and grounded and powerful. Dark eyes glimmer in the limited light.

She lets out a little breath.

_Beautiful._

Fae, from the dark green and purple veins creeping along his face, coloring his lips like the full, plush blooms of poisonous flowers.

“ _Look, but don’t touch_ ,” her father used to warn, pointing out the dangers of the woods when she’d reach for fatal berries or traipse through a wicked path. His warning does almost nothing to prevent her from itching to touch her visitor, to compare his hand to the mark she found on the tree.

The fae blatantly observes her with a thoughtful expression she doesn’t fully understand. He’s lightly hovering, which unnerves her a little bit. No footprints. No sound. Just moving closer, dark inky locks licking messily to one side, thicker and more tempting than a bush of blackberries. His limited clothing is made of fresh, woven wilderness, leaving enough of him bare that she has to remind herself that it’s rude to stare.

She’s seen fae before, she and Polly, only from afar, when they had circles drawn around them for protection. They knew better than to talk to the mischievous creatures known for carrying their playthings into the woods and doing all manner of things to them. Betty still doesn’t know what those things are, only that she shouldn’t want them. That Polly shouldn’t have, either.

Especially not when she was with child.

He’s getting close, she realizes, and takes a step back, gripping her knife tightly. As far as she’s aware, he’s alone. Maybe she’s been lured here under the mischief of magic--maybe that’s what got Polly in the first place.

The fae studies her in cautious curiosity, not at all terrified by the metal blade in her hand, although he does glance at it with the flicker of a smile, his hands raising up as if to show he’s unarmed. His minimal clothing couldn’t possibly be hiding anything besides more of his beautiful skin. But fae don’t need weapons to cause mischief.

When he moves sideways without turning, her stomach rolls. It just reminds her how little humanity is in the fae. That they can hover. They’re faster. Magical. Beautiful. Trackers bound to the earth, seeking chaos.

Swallowing her fear, she tries to consider the most advantageous way to meet a fae, especially since she’s already holding a knife. She dips down in almost a curtsy, just enough that her gaze is drawn to the place the vine threads part over the hollows of his chest.

His heart.

She looks back up, their gazes locking onto one another. It’s like he’s waiting for something, but she doesn’t know what. Her heart pounds loudly in her ears and she holds a breath, unsure of what she should do.

As if sensing her apprehension, he lightens the intensity of his stare. Flexing and stretching, his lithe body towers over her, his small smirk indicating the way he revels in her rapt attention before he glides back towards the broken tree.

He sits upon the charred wound of its heart, limbs still sprawling, refusing to give in to rot.

The fae tilts his head, watching her with patient expectancy, completely in control.

Perhaps he doesn’t want to speak. Maybe that’s not the way this one plays.

But they are playing, aren’t they?

She’s just not sure at what, yet.

The woods are still thick and shifting. Light trickles in streams, but there is no trace of her sister except some broken branches that could be from the wilderness—from anything, really. No signs of struggle—not that there would be, if she did fight a fae, although it’s rare that they’re downright violent. Even if there was an animal who took her, there would be some blood baked into the trees by the sunlight or washed away with rain.

Betty lowers the knife back to her thigh, the fae watching closely from his perch. They’re five feet apart, yet that distance could vanish in the blink of an eye.

Just like her sister did.

If Betty had somehow been able to take more of the burden of their dying father on her shoulders, maybe Polly wouldn’t have felt the need to escape, to walk beyond their laundry and into the woods, stained linens flapping in the wind as if waving in surrender until the woods swallowed her entirely.

Or maybe if Betty realized what was happening sooner, Polly wouldn’t have gotten so far. Maybe if she trusted her less...things might’ve turned out differently. They’d have been safer. Neither of them would be alone.

It’s possible Polly might’ve stumbled into the Vale of the Fae and lost all sense of time. That happens there. People who’ve been lucky enough to get out alive say that they might’ve only been in the realm of the fae a few minutes, an hour, and when they reemerge it’s as if weeks, or in some cases months, have passed.

Betty can’t lose time like that. She can’t lose her sister again.

This fae hasn’t shown her any hint of particularly malicious intentions, even if she’s vulnerable and probably closer to his realm than her own. It’s more like he’s watching her, making sure she minds her place in these woods. Or maybe he’s curious what she’s looking for. Fae are known to be trackers.

Although she hasn’t seen a sign of Polly for a while, she was around here _somewhere_ , Betty’s almost sure of it. If fae are about, they could be changing the forest paths so she’d be lost for days. But maybe if one helped her...maybe if one was kind...

“I’m looking for my sister,” she finally confides in him.

The fae tilts its chin up, listening. His knee curls up and to the side, showcasing his long legs. It doesn’t seem fair that someone who hovers still has muscular calves.

Life isn’t fair.

She should’ve learned that a long time ago.

“I saw her come through here. Or at least I think I did. I don’t know if your people have her…” She drags out the sentence, hoping he’ll confirm or deny the claim, “But I know you can track her.”

Picking up some moss and rubbing it through his fingers, the fae watches green debris crumble into the air as if debating something within himself.

The silence is eating at her, but she doesn’t be the one to break it, to push the fae into finding her a nuisance instead of its lazy entertainment. Maybe he has his own loyalties he doesn’t want to break.

However, the more time Betty spends wandering the woods, the more trouble her sister might be getting into, and the less likely the chances of their reunion will be. Even if she has to make a deal with a fae, Betty’s willing to risk what little she has left to save her sister, to save her child, too.

“Please,” she entreats, heart thumping louder under his full attention. The last bit of moss falls from his hand, fingers still rolling against his fist as he wipes them clean. Cheeks growing warm at whatever budding idea is glowing in his eyes, she turns her face away. “If you prefer to be rid of the humans in these woods, then please help me find my sister. She’s been missing for months and I saw her-heard her, actually, through the trees. Once I have her, we can leave.”

Flecks of light hover between the trees, his nails raking through bark like it’s the wave of his hair. She doesn’t know how much time passes until he regards her again.

“It’s a steep price, enlisting the help of a fae.” The voice, low and light, rumbles off of her like a breeze.

She swallows hard, trying to resist the tempting knowledge before her. “What is your price?”

His eyes glitter more temptingly than jewels, elbow crooked around his knee. “That depends.”

Double-talk makes her fists tighten. Fae are supposed to be tricky, but honest, and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to ask or say to make sure she doesn’t get taken advantage of. “What’s my price?”

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t even said I’d take you on.”

Frustrated, she lets out a small breath. “But you will.”

He tilts his head, narrowing his gaze in challenge and running a hand up his thigh. “I thought I was the one with future sight.”

Clairvoyance is always something she’s been uncomfortable with. The Seer in the village always gives vague hints about fate implying that there is no real way of avoiding it. “You don’t appear to a human and stick around long enough to stare at them in the flesh unless you want something.”

Shifting on his makeshift throne, the fae considers her with a little huh of respect. Clearly, there is something going on here, something she doesn’t fully understand and doesn’t need to understand as long as it gets her safely to Polly and back out again.

“Maybe I do.”

Straightening up to her full height, Betty strides forward, the fae’s eyes lighting up in something like wry surprise.

“What’s your name?” she demands.

“What’s yours?”

The glimmer of bemusement in his smile does nothing to quell her racing heartbeat. He can’t do anything magical with her name, especially a nickname.

“Betty.”

“Betty,” he hums, letting her name accumulate on his tongue. The glaze over his eyes makes her squirm, wondering if there is magic in a nickname. He holds out his hand for an acquaintanceship she’s not entirely sure of. “Forsythe.” She’s never heard that name before, but she supposes there are a lot of things she’s never known. Perhaps her face betrays her reluctance because he genially retracts his hand, amending, “I let the children call me Jughead, if that’s easier.”

“Jughead? Why?”

“No ’s’s’,” he says as if that really does explain everything.

“Which do you prefer?”

Narrowing his gaze, he stands, the full height of him almost making her step back out of his shadow. Her heartbeat quickens as his gaze runs down her face, hovering on her mouth before sliding curiously back to her eyes.

Her voice feels small, squeezed, when she asks him, “What?” She’s still not sure what this new pseudo-relationship will be between them.

He shakes his head gently, hands clasped behind his back. “Whenever you call me, Betty, I will come to you, no matter what the name.”

“Really?”

He nods.

Searching his face, she decides that what he’s saying is true.

“Thank you, fae.” The closeness of him, the smell of tree sap and earth, makes her feel dizzy. She curtseys.

A little chuckle and his nearly-mocking bow makes her straighten up. “Very good, human. I’ll help you.”

Her mouth falls open in surprise. “You will? But we didn’t agree on a price.”

The warmth of his breath on her ear makes her tremble. She almost clutches onto his arms as the sweet perfume hits her face. “What do you want to give me?”

Confused, she looks up at him, the nerves in her stomach settling as his expression softens. From what she’s heard, this isn’t how trades are made.

“I know where she is. Well, I know how to find her.” His eyes light up in what might be mistaken for amusement or even affection. Whatever it is, the fluttering in her gut makes her think it’s probably trouble. “Come with me.”

He glides backward, the breeze of his absence making her ache in her joints.

This isn’t right. She should go back. Search for Polly on her own. Get out of the woods. Get the fae out of their head so her heart doesn’t pound so hard like when she was looking at his extended palm.

“Look, but don’t touch,” her father had said.

Still, there’s something about the unassuming, patient way he hovers just out of reach. Tempting her. But to what?

All she wants to do is find Polly.

And maybe...thread her fingers into his, find out if his skin is hard like roots or soft and warm like hers.

Or maybe he’s the same person who took Polly and she’s ogling and trusting him like the foolish humans in her fairy stories.

The urge to plunge the dagger into his hands takes her by surprise. Handle or hilt? She’s not sure. Maybe she shouldn’t involve the dagger at all.

For now, she subtly lifts her skirt, the fae’s smile fading as his intense gaze sinks down to her bare flesh, the metal of her dagger chilling her skin. It’s like he can see every goosebump.

She wonders if fae…if they lay with humans.

They must, if the stories are to be believed.

There’s a sharpness in his gaze that feels like freezing rain licking up her neck the longer she deliberates her next move.

“Lead on, Forsythe.”

He glides back, a vision of flesh and leaves. He’s going so quickly that it almost feels like a test. Betty hurries, jogging to keep up, skirts pinned and breasts bouncing painfully despite the tightness of her shift.

The fae keeps watching her, lurking by her side, effortlessly weaving through the trees, hopping up and waiting on branches far ahead like he’s her goal instead of the family she desperately seeks.

It gets harder to breathe, but she has to keep going. Jughead seems to notice, hopping down from his branches onto the forest path.

Lungs burning, she nearly slams right into his body, not prepared for him to have stopped entirely.

He studies her carefully, fingers hovering over her shoulders like he’s considering laying them on her skin. “Your sister is safe enough for now. We don’t need to hurry.”

Panting, pained, she meets his gaze. “I just--I need to know that she’s okay.”

Shifting with the crackle of leaves, he leans in with some intensity she can’t quite identify lurking under his words. “If I say that Polly’s safe, then she’s safe.”

“My sister could be trapped. Or lost. We could both be lost,” she admits, flushing. “Safe isn’t enough for me.”

“I see,” he says somberly, flashing her a humorless smile. Guilt splashes up as soon as it registers. It’s not like he’s been anything other than helpful, really, and she’s in his woods, probably, forcing him along on this adventure.

“She’s just...she’s with somebody, I think. I don’t understand why she would just pick up and leave unless she was being threatened or…”

“Enchanted?” he finishes, quirking a brow.

His ability to pick up on things is helpful but slightly unnerving. “Yes. Maybe. She was singing.”

Jughead stares at her, and she knows what he’s thinking. Enchantment. Definitely.

“But she also may have just run away. I don’t know,” she covers, pulling at her dress.

“Guess you’ll know for sure when we find her.”

“We will find her, right?” she asks, hating the slightly desperate plea in her voice.

“With me by your side, no question.” His smile is a little brighter, which makes her feel better in turn.

They stomp forward through the woods, Jughead going particularly slow, more to pace her than spread out the time, she thinks, even though he keeps looking at her like he’s still waiting for something. The fact that he can glimpse the future makes her want to lash out, to disrupt whatever pattern’s been set out before them, but he said Polly is safe, and that’s something she can’t risk changing by trying to surprise a fae.

Now that she can breathe, she wonders who he is. What he knows, what he likes. What he wants…

…from her.

Feeling the heat of her gaze, Jughead looks over his shoulder with quiet expectation.

She works up the courage to voice some of her fears. “Will we...will my sister and I get to go home? Without losing...um, normal time?”

Cautious, he looks diagonally across their path like maybe there’s a vision out there. He nods.

An uneasiness creeps up her spine. “What about her child?”

The smirk comes back, but this time it’s not so malicious. “Children,” he corrects. As she slows, mouth dropping open, he pivots and frowns. “Didn’t you hear them?”

“No, I only heard her singing.” She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to wrap her head around this. “She’s having twins?” At his uncertain expression, she widens her eyes in shock. “She already has them?”

He nods, stepping closer, seemingly concerned by her shortness of breath.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

That’s probably something only her sister can explain, but Polly has always kept so much from her. She’s not sure why, or what she can do to be someone Polly confides in.

Embarrassed, she tugs at her dress. “How do you know? I thought you had to meet someone to get future vision.”

“At first, we could hear the heartbeats amidst the trees.”

“You? Meaning the fae?” she clarifies, incredulous. “For how long?”

If he has the answer, he hides it behind a mask of passivity, but he’s stiff like he’s uncomfortable.

“So she...conceived in these woods?”

Clearly dissatisfied with the potential conversation, Jughead turns away.

“She did. With one of...with a fae? Is that even allowed?”

He huffs out a laugh, his eyes bright with incredulity.

“Was it you?”

Her blood runs cold at the unexpected despair that runs through her at the thought. Jealousy. Almost betrayal, even.

The leaves seem to rustle in incredulity as he recoils, voice hard and loud. “No, not me. She laid with a different fae.”

“Good,” she breathes, trying to regain her mental footing.

“Good?” he repeats, just an edge of dubious teasing, something she doesn’t have time to process.

It’s all still...staggering. The woods are just lines, moving, running, spinning.

She was told not to touch the fae, that they would abduct or disorient her...and yet...

Betty’s gaze rakes along the twisted ivy of Jughead’s veins, his toned muscles, bare skin, the intensity of his gaze as he moves towards her.

If Polly could touch one and still be alive...

Flinching, she pulls back. “I’m not...I don’t know what’s happened to her. If she’s pregnant with half-fae children, is she not planning on coming back to Riverdale?”

Whatever playfulness had been in Jughead’s stalking clearly dissipates, his posture falling back into lazy indifference as he leans on the smooth bark of a tree. “It’s none of my business whether she leaves or stays.”

“But don’t you--”

“Do you want me to help you find her?”

“Yes, but--”

“Then I will. But no more questions about your sister or future-sight or even the fae. That’s not what we should be talking about; that’s not something that interests me,” he emphasizes, the warning in his gaze making her shrink back a little, especially when he pushes forward, his breath on her face. “Maybe you ought to be thinking of ways I can be repaid. Good conversation would be a nice start, don’t you think?”

Swallowing softly, she tries not to be offended by the fae’s love of stories. “Okay.”

“Good. Now come with me,” he says again, leading her off into the woods. At first, she isn’t sure what to say. The pressure of making conversation interesting enough to hold a fae’s attention sort of staggers her. Besides mischief and magic, she’s not sure where their--where his interests lie.

So she tries setting down that path by asking.

“History,” he answers, eyeing her shrewdly. “You can start with yours.” There’s more that he must be interested in, but he’s looking for stories. Human ones.

So she begins her tales from when she was little, her darkest fears, hoping that at least has some value or interest for him. She remembers the crack of thunder, the flash of shadows across the sod house walls, Polly whispering a song in the dark.

“Go on,” he urges.

And she’s not sure why, but she starts to talk to him about everything. The hair and broken thread she’d leave out in the hopes birds would build a nest in her window, her sorrow when her father cleared the sill as soon as he caught on.

“Just because your father cleared your dream away doesn’t mean it wasn’t scavenged for something else. Hair as pretty as yours? Someone would snatch that up in no time.”

The thought makes her warm, his own little smile echoing hers before he looks back at the woods.

“I bet you made nests all the time, sturdy ones made of actual branches,” she offers, watching pleasure lighten his eyes to a pale blue, her favorite shade, a clear, calm sky.

Neck elongated in a stretch, he looks up to the trees. “I only make what they need.” She’d gotten lost in storytelling, forgetting that this entire wood is home to more than just fae. The animals are his neighbors, maybe even his friends. Slowing, she tries to see the forest as a home with everything any of them would ever need. And him.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Not really,” he says simply, neck still elongated as his gaze slides back to hers.

“I think so.” Feeling brave under his appraisal, she moves closer. “Do you think it’s silly? Trying to lure birds to my window when they belong in the woods?”

Jughead considers her, the storm in his eyes darkening as he reaches for her. She holds her breath, prepared to be transported, but she doesn’t move away. There’s no escaping whatever this is. His fingers graze the loose string at her breast so tenderly that she almost pushes into it, his other hand experimentally winding in her hair and giving a sharp tug.

The quick, dull pain combined with the soft gesture has her aching for something.

It’s not the kind of transformative touch she’d expected, although maybe because it’s not skin...

Eyes dark, serious, he pulls her hair back until she’s looking up at him, lips parted. “You would trade your luxury for a lifetime of song?”

“Yes,” she breathes, hips swaying forward. She feels wanton and exposed, longing for him to come closer. Even if the nests would’ve only been a temporary home...she would have loved them. Hosted them. She wants Jughead to approve of her, to praise her for it.

Fingers dancing on the edge of her dress, Jughead loops under her strap and pulls it aside.

Gasping, Betty closes her eyes. Her clothes could melt right off and she’d shiver, but she still wouldn’t run. She can’t think beyond the tingling sensation in the air, the possibility of that tricky touch. She actually _wants_ it.

“Are you afraid?” His voice is so gentle.

Eyes squeezed tight, she shakes her head. This might not even be real. He probably doesn’t even like her. This is probably just something fae do to pass the time. Tell stories. Seduce humans.

Even her own desire for him could be the result of an enthrallment. He could take her away. She could end up like Polly.

She can’t end up like Polly.

“Oh! Polly!” she gasps, stepping back as she comes back into herself.

Disappointment flickers on Jughead’s face before his hands fall from her clothes, from her hair. “Is that what you’re thinking about during our…?”

Moment? She wonders.

Shaking her head, Betty stuffs her hair behind her ear and looks into the woods. “I probably shouldn’t be dallying in the woods while things with my sister are still unsettled.”

“Dallying,” he muses, eyeing her a little wantonly. She swallows hard, still playing with her own hair and trying to avoid eye contact. Almost any interaction this close seems to make her want to press against him. He sighs. “I guess we’d better find your sister first, then.” The humidity plummets as soon as he steps away, her heart pounding in her chest.

It takes a few minutes for her to regain her sanity, for her to accept the begrudging, but patient conversation of her guide.

“Tell me about your travels,” he prompts, lazily leaping over a flower patch.

There are very few places she can think of that are extraordinary, that might pique his interest. “Most of the places I’ve been, you must have, too.”

“Try me.”

“Greendale, Centerville, Riverdale, obviously,” she gestures.

“Never been to Centerville,” he admits with a shrug. “Seems like a self-important town, though, with a name like that.”

She laughs. “Maybe. They do seem to think their services are far more important than what our fish and flowers have to offer.” His lip quirks in a smile, seemingly pleased with his accurate prognosis. “You might still like it, though. There are plenty of trees around the edges, lots of people to play with.”

“I don’t like people.” For some reason, his offhanded dismissal makes her pause. It’s not like he seems particularly social, but part of her still hoped he was at least on okay terms with her kind. Her nails dig into her skirt, ignoring the slight protrusion of her holstered dagger. It’s silly to hope that fae have some affection for her kind, anyway. He’s just passing the time. Talking to her. Looking at her. Being with her. Diverting his gaze, Jughead messes with a loose lock of hair curled in front of his face. “Most people.”

Taking a deep breath and wetting her lips, Betty tries to change the subject. “They also have the biggest library and the most food stalls.”

“Now you’re talking,” he grins. “Tell me everything.”

With how fast fae move and how much lushness surrounds a bigger town like Centerville, she’s surprised he’s never been. “Have you never wanted to go? Not even been curious?”

He hesitates. “Other places have held my attention as of late.”

Clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about it, so Betty reroutes her attention to describing the food.

His energy perks up at the mention of their different delicacies-the drinks and bread and sausages. “Maybe I’ll bring you some...as payment,” she laughs, so surprised he’d delight in what she considers human cuisine.

Eyes sparkling like the sun on the river, he smiles indulgently, spurring her on.

“You like stories, too. Maybe I can give you something with that. Do you...do you like to read?”

“Yes. I can read, Betty. Any language you’ve got.”

“Is that because of magic?”

“Is that a question about fae?” he teases.

“Sorry.” She feels her cheeks heat up and ducks her face just so her hair will curtain her enough to be able to push it back. Part of her wants to ask if he writes as well, but she’s fairly certain that counts as an off-limits question, so she redirects her train of thought. “Maybe I can bring you some stories. Or if you prefer, I could read them to you,” she offers, his eyes flashing with something like hope or maybe even excitement. That’s probably wishful thinking on her part, though.

It’s dangerous to offer to meet him again, but it might be a nice consolation for both of them. They could be merry companions.

Her fingers graze the place her strap still lays on the side of her shoulder, but she doesn’t pull it up. Not yet, even if it is somewhat...salacious. The way his eyes follow her makes her feel warm and intriguing in a way that goes beyond anything she’s ever felt before with the boys of her village.

She can’t imagine never seeing Jughead again after this. His presence is calming amidst the chaos of her life, of her mind. Maybe that’s part of the magic of a fae, or maybe that’s just Jughead.

Plus, she likes discussing stories. She lists off some books, asking which of them he knows, expounding on a few of the ones he hasn’t read.

“What did you read as a child?” he wonders.

“Fairy stories, mostly,” she admits, blushing as she realizes she’s speaking to an actual fae.

By the stretch of his smile, she doesn’t think he finds it quite as mortifying. “Like what?”

The ones she read are embarrassing, probably holding no semblance of truth or moral, most likely not even from the fae, but she tells him some anyway, surprised when he just studies her face and asks how they shaped her.

“I don’t know. Maybe they taught me that no matter how grim things are, there can always be a happy ending. That there’s always a chance for transformation.”

“Did you try to kiss a frog?” he teases.

“No, never! Although...a butterfly kissed me once,” she admits shyly.

Circling, Jughead regards with a warm, even tone. “Did he?”

“I suppose it could’ve been a female,” she muses, tracing her hands along the spine of a tree. “I don’t know all that much about butterflies.”

Jughead slides on the other side of her tree, back curving like he’s waiting to be scratched. “He probably didn’t know that much about humans, and yet he still managed a kiss.”

Blushing, Betty turns her cheek. “Didn’t transform into a prince, though.”

“I bet he would’ve loved to transform and kiss you for real, Betty, take you away to live happily ever after.”

“So why didn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s not that kind of prince. Or maybe he wanted to wait until you were alone, until the moment was right. That butterfly prince could be quite the romantic.”

It’s so casual, the way he says it. Unnerved by his dark, knowing stare, she moves away, shifting into the unknown of the forest, trying to remember her real purpose. “When I first came to the woods, I thought they were a lot closer.”

“Your butterfly?”

“My--my sister, and her babies, I guess” she corrects, unnerved as he hovers about a foot nearer, probing her. “But tracking them has taken a lot longer than I would’ve expected.”

A smirk flashes just a bit of his off-white teeth, pointed canines she thinks could drag along her skin and make rough grooves like the bark of a tree. “You doubt my tracking skills?”

“No. If anything, I doubt myself. Polly’s really...she’s here?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” he warns cryptically, slipping through the trees up ahead.

Through the slivers of brown and green, she can only catch glimpses of his crooked smile, his teasing eyes, his dark lustrous hair, and his beautiful skin. They can’t talk like this, broken by the forest.

Hurrying her gait, she tries to close the distance between them.

His little laugh makes her flush. “Are you trying to catch me?”

“No,” she huffs. “I’m just...looking for my sister.”

“And you want to do it in record time, right?”

Hesitating, she manages a nervous glance to the woods ahead, bugs chirping in their calls. “If we can.”

He lurks between another split-trunk tree, hands on either bough like he’s the one who commanded it where to part, his face hovering through the gap. “You want to know why Polly got so far ahead of you after she came into the forest?”

“Okay?” Truthfully, she’s not sure she does, but it’s the first bit of information he’s really volunteered.

“She got the fae father to carry her away.” His eyes travel down her mud-sullied gown, electricity tingling along her skin. “We could go faster if you wish.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Betty pulls at her skirt, watching the mild curiosity in his eyes as her dress stretches across her breasts.

She’d have to wrap herself around him or be held entirely.

It’s a once in a lifetime experience.

It’ll get her to Polly that much faster.

Still…

“Wouldn’t you have to touch me?”

Confusion flashes across Jughead’s face. “Yes?”

Part of her wants to tell him what she’d heard about touching fae--that it was dangerous, that she’d be absconded with...but that’s kind of the point. He’d abscond with her towards their destination. Jughead’s been nothing but kind to her so far. Helpful. Friendly. He could’ve led her into the Vale of the Fae at any time and he hadn’t.

“Okay,” she breathes out, trying not to stare at his hands, nor picture them on her skin. They might be warm enough that they melt the moss off of trees. The air suddenly feels very thick. “I trust you.”

Jughead blinks, a slow, happy smile spreading across his face. “How would you like to be carried?”

The question lingers like a buzzing noise in her ear.

Betty walks up to the tree, Jughead’s hands splayed on either side of its branching trunk and steps up into his space on instinct. “Like this.” He’s already leaning, moving to hoist her up by the waist, and she just...feels him. His thumbs on her stomach, fingers supporting her back as she arches up into him. That perfume of his breath, the husky grass smell of his sweat.

She trusts him.

She wants him.

Enchantment or not, her heart’s pounding hard.

Closing her eyes, Betty cups either side of his beautiful jaw and presses her lips to his. The kiss is almost human at first. Slightly warm, if not warm-blooded, as he hoists her closer to his body and switches angles to kiss her more deeply. She opens her mouth to pull at his plush lips, her mouth flooded with the tang of plums. As they keep kissing, she detects some undertones of sweetgrass, maybe even something floral. The more she kisses him the more she’s getting. Wine. Something underlying. Jughead.

Feeling heady, she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pushing her breasts against him for some semblance of relief for the desire coursing through her veins.

He moans, nudging softly on her lips, his hand traveling up her waist, thumb resting just under her breast.

“Jughead,” she pleads, not sure what he’s asking for. To put a stop to this? To keep going?

She feels his smile creep into their kisses, his tongue sliding along hers and leaving a prickly nectar that has her wrapping a leg around his waist.

“Betty,” he pants, eyes closed. She’s never done anything like this before, doesn’t know if he’s even...like what she’s seen of men bathing in the lake. But rubbing up against him feels good. His hands feel warm and sturdy through her dress and she wants more.

“Please.”

She grinds on him a little harder, a sharp heat building just below her gut. This is a whole other kind of magic, she thinks, adrenaline pouring off of her in waves as he bestows her with deep, passionate kisses, his fingers digging back into her hair.

The edge of her dagger presses into her thigh, accidentally slammed into the tree amidst their embrace. She winces, holds onto him tighter. Maybe she should just take it off. Maybe she should take everything off. As her hands slip off of his shoulders to start to bring up her skirts, Jughead pulls back.

Eyes glimmering dark with midnight stars and sky, he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, conflicted. “You asked me to take you to Polly.”

“And?” she pants, licking her lips for the remnant of his nectar.

He winces, looking pained. “I should...we should go to her. You need to see your sister. Before anything happens. Like you said.”

Her skirt falls back to her ankles as she tries to ignore the burning sensation of rejection and desire radiating inside of her.

“Trust me, Betty, I want to,” he insists, nose brushing against hers. “I want every part of you. But I can wait a little longer. Let’s get you to Polly.”

She’s not sure what to do, has to actively remind herself not to pout or smile and say it’s okay. Sensing her conflict, Jughead leans in and places a tender, lingering kiss on her lips. It does nothing to quell the bubbling heat in her veins, but it does soothe her embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, pulling at the soft tufts of hair at the back of his neck.

With a happy sigh, Jughead draws her closer by the small of her waist. “My pleasure.”

Since they’re face to face already, he lifts her up from under her thighs, her ankles hooking around the dip of his back. Their noses brush in the adjustment and she starts to feel that magnetic pull to kiss him again. Embarrassed, she dips her face to the side, hoping to give him a clear view through the forest ahead.

“I hope Polly’s fae is as nice as you are.”

Huffing a laugh she can feel in her thighs pressed against his gut, Jughead holds her a bit tighter. “I’m glad you think I’m nice.”

“Aren’t you?”

He cranes his neck back so she’ll look at him. The low fluttering in her gut kicks up again, soothed when he presses his lips to hers in a playful kiss. Another. A few more until the sharp nip of his teeth has her jumping in his arms.

Jughead’s face lights up with a grin.

She didn’t think boys would bite. She didn’t think she’d like it, either.

“Nice so far,” she amends, rearranging her arms around his neck. “But I think all fae may be a little naughty.”

He hums something low, close to a growl, attention hovering on what might be a mark on her lip. “You have no idea.”


	2. the end was near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know I got sucked into a void of poetry about blossoms in an attempt to be clever in this note and now my head is swimming with words about darkness and shutness and symbolism about naivete and wow. Words.
> 
> Enjoy the Blossoms, my friends, and let me know what you think of it!

Before she can fall back into a distraction, Betty shifts so her chin is over his shoulder. Although holding him so tightly, so wholly, is _nice_ , she’s less tempted to flirt. Just _stay_.

“Hold on, baby.” The sentiment surprises her. Even though her ear’s right by his lips, part of her still thinks she just happened to mishear, _Betty_.

Before she can respond, they’re off, the rush of air at her back making her cling to Jughead just a little tighter before she can take a breath, realizing he won’t let her fall. The forest looks so different when they go fast like this. Sweeping her hair into one hand, she takes in the spots of sunlight, the cool breeze.

Maybe Polly really is safe here. Especially if she’s in the arm of a fae lover like…

Well, with someone who’s careful with her.

Betty snuggles closer into Jughead’s arms, enjoying the silkiness of his skin, the soft bramble of his hair.

“Betty,” he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek. “I want you to know that for right now, Polly is safe. No matter what happens…”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, stopping and letting go of her thighs. She’s almost loathe to put her feet back on the ground, but he waits until she’s firmly planted back on earth.

“What’s happening with Polly and her fae is...different than what’s happening with you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he promises, kissing her forehead and taking her hand.

The cryptic warning has her heart hammering loudly in her ears, and she wants to ask every single question rapid-firing in her brain. By the determined look on his face and the rapid march they’re moving at, she gets the impression she’ll have her answers soon.

The cry of a baby stops her in her tracks. Jughead looks back at her, pleading silently with narrowed eyes.

Unable to process the repercussions, Betty bolts forward towards the sound, Jughead in tow despite being far faster.

Nestled amidst the branches of a weeping willow, Polly’s wheat-gold hair shines down her back, a baby tucked neatly against her breast as she shushes it with affection. She’s in the same clothes from the day she left, another baby squirming in her other arm.

Those children are her family.

Polly _had_ the babies.

It weighs on Betty that she wasn’t there for their birth, to hold her sister’s hand while she took on this new challenge and expanded their family. Their father’s passing was hard, but she doesn’t begrudge Polly for not being able to be there for that. _This_ could have been something beautiful. Maybe it still is. She just doesn’t understand.

“What is she doing out here?” she whispers.

Jughead stays silent, squeezing her hand. It feels like a vice. Before she loses her nerve, Betty moves towards her sister. Instead of following, she feels Jughead reluctantly let his hand fall from her grasp. As she turns, questioning, he dips his head and hovers just around the perimeter looking out for something she doesn’t understand. Maybe he’s giving them privacy for the reunion. Or maybe he really _doesn’t_ like people.

Polly still hasn’t noticed them approach, now humming softly to the children in her arms. Before her pregnancy, Polly never had a particular regard for children, but clearly has a deeper bond now that she’s holding her own. Part of Betty wonders if this is all an illusion. A dream. The slightly pointed ears of the babies and prominent veins indicate that they are indeed fae. Her family.

Betty trembles, creeping forward as if the whole scene might be swept away. “Polly?” she calls out tentatively.

No response.

Polly is so absorbed in her task at hand that she’s still got her head down and attention on a baby when Betty approaches, narrowing down to the same five foot radius she’d kept when meeting Jughead the first time. The distance feels insurmountable. Unreal.

A branch cackles underfoot, bending, but not breaking, as the river steadily churns on in the distance.

Polly looks up in surprise, an eerily warm smile on her face. “Betty?!”

Still at a loss, Betty is torn between throwing her arms around her sister in relief and trying to wake up before this morphs into one of her nightmares. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking care of the babies. Obviously.” Polly tilts the child currently at her teet as if seeing this strange scene better will somehow make it easier to believe.

“Whose babies are they, Pol?”

Looking around, Polly barely even seems to register that Jughead is there. “I was carrying and caring for the children of the Blossom King!” Her voice perks up at the end like it’s some high honor, nannying for a kingdom they know almost nothing about.

Jughead rolls his shoulders and looks about like he’s uncomfortable patrolling, which makes _her_ uneasy in turn.

“Who’s the Blossom King?” Betty tries.

“He lets me call him _Jason_ ,” Polly brags. “You remember, like that prince in our storybook? He’s the most wonderful creature anyone’s ever seen and he loves me.”

“And you love him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaking her head, Betty looks to Jughead for guidance, but he’s staring into the woods with a decidedly sour look on his face. “Okay. But Polly, if he loves you, why isn’t he here with you and his children?”

“He’s royalty among the fae, Betty. Of course he’s too busy to sit with me as I nurse.”

“Alleged royalty,” Jughead mutters, but Polly doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me about him? Why did you run away? We could’ve helped you with the babies, with this--whatever the situation is.” Part of her wants to reach forward and hold her newfound relations, but Polly’s acting so strangely that she’s nervous about touching them.

Unaffected, Polly bounces the baby in her arms. “You wouldn’t understand. What the Blossom King and I share is a deep, powerful connection.”

A long-suffering sigh draws Betty’s attention back to Jughead, who looks upon her sister with something like frustrated wariness. She can’t tell if it’s because his future sight lends him to being annoyed with the present or because Polly’s answers are as unsatisfactory to him as they are to her.

“Polly, I’d thought you were abducted, and if you’d gone into the Vale before I found you, I would have had to assume that you’d died. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“You’re so overdramatic. I’m fine.”

“But what about me?” Her throat tightens in emotion, not sure if she should bring it up at all. “What about our father?”

The relaxed expression on her sister’s face hardens in resistance. “You’re fine, too.”

Rubbing her temples, Betty paces around her sister in an attempt to process everything. She’s safe, that much is true. But is she also mad? There’s something so off-putting in how calm she is, how readily she marched into the woods to leave her life behind.

Sniffling in an attempt to hold back her emotions, Betty gets on her knees before her sister and puts a gentle hand on her leg. “Polly, will you come back home with me? Just for a little while? I was going to give Father flowers. We could--”

“The Blossom King needs me. His babies need me.”

“ _I_ need you,” Betty pleads. “Please, Polly? It’s like you’re enchanted or…” Her fingers tighten on her sister’s heavy dress.

_Enthralled_.

A flare of fear zips through her veins. Jughead’s expression is drawn, the recesses under his eyes seeming more like bruises than pigment. He’s waiting.

For her.

“We need to get you out of here. Come on.” Betty stands, trying to lead Polly by the elbow while avoiding any other kind of eye contact with Jughead.

“No. I’m waiting for Jason. He’ll be back any minute,” Polly protests, wrenching herself and the disgruntled babies away. They scream for their father, their unnatural cries grating under her skin.

“We can find him,” Betty tries, desperately planning a way to get her sister back to civilization. “Or he can track you. Fae are great trackers, Polly, that’s how--”

“He needs my milk and he needs _me_. Just go home, Betty. I’ll be fine. He’s going to take care of me, and I’m going to take care of the babies.”

“Please, Polly, just come _home_ \--”

“He’s coming,” Jughead announces apologetically. “I think you’ll want to listen to him.”

Betty turns to him and glares. “Why? So he can enchant _me_ , too? Or has he left that to you?”

“No! We’re not the same. Not even _close_ ,” Jughead insists, and Betty’s still so frazzled that she’s not sure whether to ask him for help or to run as far as she can. He takes a pleading step forward, hand out as if to calm them both. “Betty, please. I swear to you. Just listen and then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I can’t leave my sister and her children in the middle of a forest with someone who’s enchanted her!”

“You’re not leaving her, you’re just--” Jughead cuts himself off, gaze turning sharply to the fluttering veil of vines, the splash of dew on a tree.

A knee is the first thing she sees. The fae that steps out is much paler than Jughead, hair and veins the vibrant orange-red erupting on the best days of fall, sparse, elegant clothes spun of a spider’s silk, and eyes the sharp blue of ice instead of the sky. A smaller fae joins him, female, with the same colored hair weighted in a way that makes it snap against her backside with every turn. They’re so striking and similar that she thinks they must be twins.

Without thinking, Betty’s nails dig into her sister’s arm.

“Ow! You’re pinching me,” Polly protests, pulling away, her children crying out at the movement. “Jason. I’ve been waiting - like you said.”

Tall, elegant, practically reflective in the late afternoon rays, the Blossom King slinks towards them, his gaze flicking along Betty like splashes of cold water. “And who are you, pretty flower?”

“Her sister,” Betty fumes, nostrils flaring as she tries to link her arm’s through Polly’s again, but her sister refuses to move the child. “I’m taking her home. Please let her go home.”

“Of course I’ll let her go home. She’s not _staying_.” Relief visibly makes her sag, pulled out of her posture. “She’s almost done nursing, and then she can head back to wherever you came from. We just had her walking that path earlier today. You’re just a little too early, lovely flower.”

The female fae’s cherry red lips seem to widen in a not-quite-smile, eyes raking over Jughead, who bristles at any indication of his presence. “Who’d have thought she would pick up a ride with a snake in the grass?”

The Blossom King seems unimpressed by the association. “Let _him_ carry her back, then.”

“What do you mean? You want us to take Polly away in a few days?” Betty glances at the squirming children in her oblivious sister’s arms. “But what about her children?”

“ _My_ children,” the Blossom King corrects. Betty stares at him, absolutely flabbergasted. “They stay with me. Where they should be.”

“Because they’re fae?”

“Because _she’s_ _human_.” The incredulity must be clear on her face, because the Blossom King looks annoyingly bemused, sauntering forward. “Would you like to stay until she’s ready? Or maybe do a trade? I’m sure we can find a way to entertain you. Or more accurately,” he continues, eyes flashing, “Find a way for you to entertain.”

His sister smirks, arms crossed over her webbed dress where a spider crawls over her breast.

For once in her life, Polly shows no signs of jealousy or possessiveness. Once, a boy in town that Polly had her eye on passed Betty a flower during a festival and Polly had all but ripped it to shreds the first moment she could.

“ _He loves you not,_ ” Polly had declared triumphantly as the last petal had fallen, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a dance instead.

This was beyond a newfound sense of calm. This was madness.

Shoulders crushing inwards to make herself smaller, Betty moves slightly behind her sister. “Polly,” she whispers, tugging on her arm. “Let’s go.” The dagger is still strapped to her thigh, but she’s not sure she could use it. Not in front of babies, not against Polly, and certainly not against _all_ of them, should it come to a fight.

Heartbeat quickening, Betty looks to Jughead, who is being entirely ignored by the Blossom King and his sister except for the occasional hostile glance or taunting smile. Muscles tense, her fae stays poised by the tree, gaze fixed sharply on the two fae.

She shouldn’t call to him, expect anything. It’s not like he belongs to her, nor him to her.

And yet…she hopes that everything between her and Jughead is more substantial than whatever this is between Polly and her “Prince.” He’d _said_ it was different.

Betty looks “Jason” straight in the eye. “Take off the enchantment.”

Both him and his sister let out a chuckle. “What?”

“It’s not right. If you’re not keeping her, you shouldn’t make her think she’s in love with you. ”

“Oh, she’s in love with him,” the sister confirms with an eye roll. “He enthralled her to get her to stop trying to marry him.”

“What?”

The Blossom King holds up his arms, gesturing to his abs, his legs. “Do you think I need magic to lay with a human like her?”

“Like _what_?” she protests, gripping Polly’s arm tighter as the sister takes one of the babies out of her hands, making big, approving facial expressions at it.

“Spiteful, self-centered, and obsessed with status. If she wasn’t so annoying, you’d be a match made in heaven,” his sister muses, sticking out her tongue until the baby laughs in delight.

“Thank you, Cheryl,” the Blossom King says with strangely affectionate sarcasm, and from the way they both preen, Betty gets the distinctly uncomfortable impression that they enjoy raising children in their own sparkling image.

As Cheryl takes the other child, she switches into viciously sweet tone. “What do you think, babies? Should we let your mommy go home now or a few more feedings? Jay-Jay?”

“I’m thinking,” he replies irritably, curling his rust-colored mouth in a frown as he scans the environment, touching the dip in the babies’ chins and studying them. When he looks into his sister’s eyes, it’s like they’re having a whole private conversation.

Part of her wishes she could communicate with Polly that way.

Or Jughead.

All she can think of now is that they may have the opportunity to leave. “Polly, please,” she begs. “I know you love him, but he doesn’t want you beyond those babies. Let’s just go home and we can figure everything out from there once you’re back to yourself.” Her gaze darts nervously to the young twins, not sure how _she’d_ feel, enthralled or not, if asked to leave her children behind.

Annoyed, Polly pushes her hands off of her shoulders. “I _am_ myself. You’re just jealous that I’m with the Blossom King.” The pale foggy green of her eyes makes her soul seem distant, just out of reach.

“No, not at _all!_ ” She’s aghast her sister would even _think_ something like that, and makes sure to send a glance to Jughead, so that he knows it, too. “If you were both in love, I’d be happy for you, but clearly, he’s-- _you’re_ not. He’s using you, Pol. But he’s not going to again, okay? I’ll take care of you--”

Heat and pain flash across her cheek in equal measure. She’s so stunned by the slap that it takes a few mute seconds of swallowing her own rage and shame before she can even raise her eyes off the ground. If she sees the full effect of Jughead’s pity, of Polly’s selfish, magic-induced rage, she thinks she’ll start to cry.

“I’m. Not. Leaving.”

Cheryl cackles. “See? Ob _sessed._ ”

To her surprise, Jughead is the one who darts forward, muscles tense. “Take the enthrallment off! You’ve had your perverse fun and it’s time to let her go.”

“What? Like _she_ didn’t have fun?” Cheryl protests. “Even if we took it off, she’d still want to stay with JayJay.”

The Blossom King smirks proudly.

“I would,” Polly declares confidently, seeking her lover’s approval.

“See? I don’t know how to get rid of her.”

“Try removing the enchantment, you twisted weed.”

Face relaxing into smug reassurance, the Blossom King rubs his chest, blowing some kind of reddish powder in Polly’s direction while Cheryl watches on with giddy anticipation. Just in case their plume of pollen is toxic, Betty holds her breath.

But Polly barely changes, just blinks a few times, frowning at Jughead like she’s registering him for the first time. “Who’s he?”

“Your sister’s friend,” the Blossom King says, all kindness. “He’s come to help you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

Betty’s stomach plummets like a boulder dropped straight to the bottom of the river, sinking into muck as a fog of despair rises to bury it. A frustrated growl works in the back of Jughead’s throat as the Blossom King grins, his teeth white and shiny against the stain of his lips.

Closing her eyes, Betty tries to hold onto hope that her sister is in there somewhere. Someone who _wants_ to come back. “Please, Polly. At the very least, come and pay your respects with me. We can visit--we can bring flowers, and then if you still want, we can come back.”

“Come back?” Polly regards her with incredulity. “Why would I ever leave?”

“To spend time with _me_ , to spend time...to honor our father.” She doesn’t even know what to do with her hands anymore, nor her heart.

“You’re already here, and Father is fine.”

“He’s _not_ fine; he’s dead,” she snaps. It’s the first time she’s said it, really, and it breaks her heart more than it should.

Polly goes rigid. Her voice sounds strangled, off. “What?”

“A few days after you left, he was so worried, _we_ were so worried, and his sickness took a turn and then--”

Polly shoves Betty back against a tree with a bruising grip. Jughead might be moving towards them, but she can barely even make out the stark lines on her sister’s face through the thin coating of tears, the sharp ridges of knotted bark pressing into her skin.

“Are you saying my absence killed our father?”

“I’m just saying that I _need_ you,” she begs, gripping onto her shoulders. “We need each other. Please see through this magic enough to understand _that_. Just come home. We can figure out what to do with your children after, once you’re yourself again.”

For a moment, Polly seems to come into her old self, light brown eyelashes repeatedly batting against the very ideas being presented to her.

“No.”

It feels like the air’s been knocked out of her lungs, her grip loosening. “What?”

“No.” Clenching her jaw, Polly whips her gaze over to her lover before striking her sister back. “Father’s dead. There’s nothing left for us back there. I’m staying with Jason. I want to live in the Vale with my babies, with my husband.”

“Mm, no. That’s not really an option, my lovely flower,” the Blossom King interrupts, facing Cheryl more than anyone else. Whatever fog that’d remained over Polly’s eyes dissipates, her pupils going wide in outrage.

“You can’t just send me home! I still have more feedings for the babies, and besides--I love you. You laid with me. We should be _together_ , spend nights together. I came to you, I _waited_ for you and did everything you said!”

The Blossom King has the audacity to look bored. “Polly, there _is_ no future for us. I’ve seen it. Or rather, didn’t see it. Thank you for the twins, but it’s time we went our separate ways. Think of all the beautiful memories you’ve made with us. Write about them. You know how I love my songs and stories,” he reasons, eyes glittering.

Polly’s face is hard and smooth as she approaches him. “I want my happy ending. You said that you loved me. You should either live with me here or take me back to the Vale.”

“I will always treasure our time together-”

“It never has to end. I want to _be_ with you! Live forever!”

“We’ve been through this, Polly,” he says through a strained, not-so-nice smile. “Maybe sometime down the road our time will come. But I need to take the children to the Vale and I can’t have a human with me.”

Betty glances over at Jughead to see if that’s true of all humans or just something Jason’s telling Polly. To his credit, he appears to be more focused on her arms, almost like his gaze is raking her skin for bruises.

Cheryl kisses the babies’ foreheads. “What about her sister? Do you want to play before we go?”

“Ooh, good question. We haven’t had a sisters comparison for some time.” The Blossom King looks beyond Polly, appraising Betty as she subtly fingers the hilt of her dagger through her dress. The shift of her skirt draws his _and_ Jughead’s attention, the girls’ too. She’s never felt so vulnerable, so much like prey.

Putting on a charming, sweet voice, the Blossom King lays a guiding hand on Polly to draw her suspicious glare away from Betty’s leg. “Polly, unless you’d like to partake with us, why don’t you head on out? Thank you _so_ much, again. We’ll take good care of the twins.” His attempt at a soft dismissive kiss has Polly straining to pull him into a more forceful embrace. His smile widens incredulously at her desperation, gaze flicking to Betty.

“Why are you looking at her?” Polly demands, practically clawing at his skin.

“I just want to get to know our children’s aunt. I’m sure she wants to spend some time with her niece and nephew before we leave this realm. It’s a good idea to build a stronger family. Wouldn’t you agree?” The Blossom King’s smile feels like two hands twisting an arm in opposite directions. It burns.

Fingers playing at her skirt, Betty backs away, looking to Jughead for help. He subtly flares his nostrils, hovering towards her in determination. “Betty, let’s go. Hold onto me and I’ll carry you back.”

Cheryl laughs. “Didn’t know you were delegated to a steed, King of the Plague.”

Whatever she’s referencing, Jughead doesn’t take the bait. “Betty, please.”

“ _Please_ , he says,” Cheryl mocks. “Yes. _Please_ take Polly and then come back for this girl in a few hours. I think that’s enough play time, don’t you?” she asks the children as if they have a hand in whatever tortures she seeks.

“Betty is not someone to be _played_ with,” he warns, voice low. “And neither are those innocent kids, and _neither am I_.”

Although Cheryl’s pride may make her skeptical, Betty has every reason to believe that bad things are going to happen unless she and Jughead take Polly away right now. Squeezing Jughead’s arm, she turns to her sister.

“Polly,” Betty begs, taking a step forward, _praying_ that this time she’ll leave, that this time they can leave _together_. “Let’s go now. Please.”

“It’s fine, Betty. He can have you,” she says flatly, Jason’s face lighting up in delight as her own falls into horror.

“Wh-what?” She’s _hoping_ that Polly means Jughead. That Betty should be carried away by the fae who brought her here and her sister will sort out arrangements with her own lover.

But Polly’s gaze shifts to Jason as she says, “I just don’t understand why you would choose _her_ after me,” and everything feels that much more horrible and twisted.

“I’m choosing both of you,” Jason reasons thoughtfully, one hand on Polly’s shoulder. “I’m choosing _family_.”

Jughead shoulders in front of Betty like a shield, hand slipping into hers like a balm for this insanity. “Like hell you are.”

“If the ladies are fine with it...” Jason offers amicably.

“ _I’m_ not!” Betty shudders, her free hand wrapping around Jughead’s wrist.

“ _Fine_. Let’s just say goodbye.” Moving to Cheryl, Polly kisses the tops of her babies’ heads before they’re edged away.

“What about the feedings?” Cheryl demands.

Polly's gaze stays fixed on the children, voice unaffected as she reaches out for their chubby little cheeks. “You know how to find me. I’ll stay near the edge of the woods. You can track me anytime you need me.”

“Fine. Maybe we’ll track your sister for a visit, too.”

A cool chill ripples down from the river and then warms when Polly holds onto one of the babies’ tiny fingers. “Betty, come say hello and goodbye to your niece and nephew. Juniper and Dagwood.”

The strangeness of their names seems like nothing compared to the situation. “I’m not playing with them,” she whispers, shaking her head, squeezing Jughead’s hand tighter.

“I know.” Polly waits, strangely patient. “Just meet them. They’re babies. They’re not going to do you any harm.”

Jason doesn’t _seem_ like he’s plotting a trick, and even Cheryl seems more than content to just bounce the babies in her arms for a bit. Maybe they’ll be safe, for now. And if they’re headed to the Vale after this, they probably won’t be back for a _while_.

Squeezing Jughead’s hand, Betty nods. “Okay. Then we go.”

“Betty, don’t,” Jughead murmurs, pulling her back.

She leans in, not sure what to do. “They said they’d let us choose, right? Well, I choose you.” His lips part, eyes lighting up with wonder. She scrambles to cover her own vulnerable heart. “We’ll leave right after Polly gets her goodbye.”

“Betty…” He strokes her jaw, pressing a delicate kiss to the side of her mouth, her eyes closing in relief at his touch.

_Sweet_. _Safe._

Cheryl scoffs. “Ugh, would you two please spare us the sentiments so we can get the twins home? Nobody wants to see you two rubbing faces with those caterpillar eyebrows in the way.”

Feeling self-conscious, Betty bites her lip apologetically. Not that she has anything to be _sorry_ about. At least she’s _fairly_ certain Jughead’s never enthralled her if the distinct lack of magic pollen and her ability to focus is anything to go by. She’ll have to ask him later.

Taking a deep breath, she moves forward, fingers reluctantly, eventually letting go of his to look at the family she’ll probably never know. “Hello…?”

“Juniper,” Cheryl provides, lifting the one in her left arm.

“Hello Juniper, hello Dagwood.” Her heart aches for them. She knows she’ll never get to hold them or teach them to read, never even get to watch them play in the garden.

They’ll miss everything.

“I’m so sorry, Polly,” she whispers.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Polly makes a little noise of acknowledgment. “It’s too late for any of that.” She looks over her shoulder to her former lover. “You’ll have to get rid of her boyfriend to get her to stay. Betty never really _lets people go_.”

“What?” she snaps, turning to look at Jughead, whose eyes widen in alarm.

Just as Jason shoots forward, arm drawn back for a hit, Polly grabs her sister’s skirt. “And neither do I.”

With a violent yank, Polly tears Betty’s skirt, quickly grabbing the dagger from its sheath right as Jughead dodges the first blow, everything happening so quickly that both fae end up slamming into separate trees.

“Betty!” Jughead calls, zipping back as Jason comes for him again.

The dagger only just misses being planted in Betty’s side - a painful wound, had Betty not shoved her sister’s forearm. “Stop!” she screams, stunned when her sister quickly follows up with short, sharp strikes to shove her back and slice her arm, the pain stinging and burning.

Cheryl leans back, a scowl on her face as the babies start to wail. “What the hell, psycho? You leave our babies out of this!”

Rabid, Polly grunts, “ _My_ babies!” slashing at the pale arms shielding them.

“JayJay!” Cheryl screams, darting back so quickly that she almost twists and falls in her attempt to protect her niece and nephew. The dagger is iron. Their weakness.

Instinct flares up and Betty pulls her sister back, trying to wrap her arms tightly to her body so she can't hurt anyone. “Polly, stop! You don’t want to hurt them! This isn’t you!”

“No, it’s _you!_ You take _everything_ from me!” she seethes, elbowing Betty hard enough that black spots bloom. “Everything I want! You show up and it’s like you’re some beautiful flower-” She slices Betty’s arms raised in defense. “He loves me!” Another burning sting right on her chest. “He loves you not!”

“Polly,” Betty sobs, wrestling desperately with the mad strength of her sister, thunder in her ears, the river tumbling in the distance.

“He _loves_ me!” This time Polly chops her hair, nicking her scalp and not her jugular only because of a last-second shift in Betty’s body weight.

She can’t believe that her own _sister_ wants her to die. "You can still go home," she pleads. "You can start a new family! Polly!" They knock each other to the ground, wrestling and kneeing for the upper hand, the knife falling to the undergrowth and shining like a trap.

Huffing with effort and outrage, Polly even tries to pull her hair. "You want _everything_. My attention, my time, my hand-me-down clothes. You just kept asking who the father was, trying to peddle my secrets out of me. It’s like you have to take my whole _life_! Why do you think I didn't tell you about Jason? I _knew_ you'd try to take him from me!"

"No!" The pain makes her eyes water, breath running ragged as she tries to claw at Polly's roaming hands before they can get back to the dagger. The only thing she can think to do is try to incapacitate her, but even then she'd need to give her a blow to the head, which might _kill_ her if the angle isn't just right. "Polly, please. I’m _not_ trying to take your life! I don’t want it; I just want to be a _part_ of it!"

“You’ve always been the worst part of my life! I had a chance for something _special,_ I could have been immortal in the Vale, I could have been a _queen!_ ”

“What are you even _talking_ about? He didn’t _want_ you!”

“No. Now he wants _you_ , and the only way he’s going to have you is with _my_ knife buried in your side.” Heaving with rage, Polly looks over in the direction of Jason and Jughead colliding into each other and the trees. "I hope Jason kills your fae first right in front of you so you can feel a tenth of the pain I feel."

Everything bleeds black. Betty jabs her sister's elbow, the arm jutting an awkward angle and loosening the grip on her hair, giving her enough room to slam forward with every ounce of strength she has. The impact snaps Polly's head back, blood oozing out her nose as she stares up, dazed, to the branching canopy above.

“Jughead…” Betty moans, trying to stand without blood and throbbing pain rushing out from her head.

Snatching the knife, Betty stumbles towards Jughead to help her friend, her lover. She can’t let him suffer for her family’s mistakes.

But Jason moves so quickly, and so does Jughead, the two fae moving at such a relentless pace that she trembles, not sure _how_ to help, let alone _when_.

The intensity of their fight astounds her. Jughead's pupils dilate with the power of a hurricane as he takes Jason's punches. Overconfident, the Blossom King moves in again, but Jughead dodges, using the momentum to roll around and up onto Jason’s back, his forearm snug around his throat.

Cursing, Jason tries to back them both into a tree, their bodies vibrating with the impact.

Before she can even make sense of it, Jughead wraps his forearm tighter around Jason’s neck, his skin toughening to scales. Although she can’t see his fingers, somehow another thick loop of scaly flesh curls around Jason’s neck, squeezing until his whole face goes red, veins cackling under his skin for air.

“Jughead?” she whispers, completely confused. There were rumors that fae could glamour and disguise themselves, even shapeshift to some extent, but this…his arm...

The rest of him is still fae.

A crack draws her attention back to Polly, her sister’s body falling limply to the ground under Cheryl’s web. The fae’s veins practically glow like hot coals. “No one fucks with my babies,” she hisses.

The dagger slips but doesn’t fall. Cheryl’s eyes flash, connecting with hers. “You want to play too, wilted flower?”

It’s like the world is burning all around her. There’s no time to mourn, to process.

“No. I just want to leave and I want to take Jughead with me.”

At his name, Jughead looks upwards in alarm, coils tightening on the struggling Blossom King clawing at his forearms for air. “Stand down, Cheryl!”

“Let go of my brother and maybe I’ll spare your human, freak,” Cheryl snaps, stepping over Polly’s body like she’s just another fallen branch in the forest, long wheat-colored hair draped over her lifeless face.

With a violent shout, Jughead sends venom flying. “See what happens to your brother if you so much as _touch_ that girl, Blossom.”

Hesitating, Cheryl squints, glancing warily from Betty to her brother’s reddening face. “Fine. You want me to fight you, too, serpent? We both know your little girl will try to help you and get hurt that way. Or do you want to let my brother go and settle this with a draw?”

“Oh, no,” Jughead shakes his head, jerking a gasping, desperate Jason further away, making Cheryl move two steps closer in alarm. “I know how your little deals work. I want your blood oath, Blossom, that you will never harm Betty or any member of her family again. You and your clan will leave her loved ones alone!”

“What _family_? Her sister’s dead and the twins are ours. Let JayJay go!”

He quirks his head, the heel of his foot digging into Jason’s hip as the Blossom King chokes, eyes bulging, fingers scrambling to connect with any bit of Jughead he can.

“I’ve watched your kind, Blossom. I’ve had enough of your particular brand of chaos in these woods. Either your brother dies or I get your _promise_.”

Panicking at the sound of her brother’s sharp attempts at breathing, Cheryl nods. “Fine! I promise!”

“Swear a blood oath!” He yanks Jason upwards, the Blossom King giving a strangled gulping cry for air.

Cheryl hurriedly drags her own nails across her palm until reddish-orange wet jelly wells up in a jagged line, almost glowing in the fading sunlight. “Quickly!”

“Betty, she needs your blood for a pact!” Jughead clarifies, although she thinks she generally had the idea.

Betty supposes either of them could have used one of the wounds already slick with blood from her sister’s rage, but that feels wrong, like they’d be crediting Polly with something that would protect instead of hurt their families. This time Betty makes her own mark, the dark red of wine dripping down the grooves of her palm.

The women clasp hands, grip tightening the slick acidic burn of promise.

“We made the oath!” Cheryl insists. “Now let my brother go!”

With a twinge of hesitance and a shared look that Betty doesn’t fully understand, Jughead twists Jason’s body, spinning him forward.

“JayJay!” Cheryl cries, running to him. Coughing, heaving, Jason rubs his neck, skin red and bruised, veins flaring and pulsing. As the siblings check each other, Betty turns to Jughead, who’s breathing so deeply that his shoulders seem to move with every pant.

Fingers gummy with blood, she flexes, reaching for something. Not a dagger. For him.

He fought for her family. For her happiness. For her life, really, and she would fight for him.

Sheathing the dagger, Betty waits for him to signal her with a small head nod. He doesn’t need to make her any more promises. He doesn’t need to bury her dead or take her away. She just wants him to hold her hand.

It’s quiet as she climbs back into his arms. They hold each other for a while, her heart beating so hard that she swears she can feel his own pressing into her chest.

She’s not sure how much time passes, her eyes closed, body wrapped around his.

Eventually, the far-off cries of children remind them of others beyond themselves. Cheryl stands hand in hand with her bruised, surly brother, each holding a baby.“We’re just...we’re going to the Vale. We _will_ take good care of them.”

“Maybe you could teach them not to cut people off from their families,” Jughead offers snarkily.

Betty sighs, and Jughead seems to remember himself, rubbing her back with broad strokes that leave ripples of relief in their wake.

“Take her body with you,” Betty says quietly, not wanting to see the husk of what her sister was... _ever_ again.

At least this way the Blossoms will be the ones cleaning up the mess they made. Or maybe Betty _did_ make it. She’s still not sure. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

“Walk with me, baby?”

The endearment makes her heart swell.

She nods.

Let the twins keep the children, she thinks, because she’s lucky enough to be leaving with her life, lucky enough to be leaving as Jughead’s _baby_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh boy. RIP Pollykins. There was just no way she was going to leave without trying to take someone down with her. Also, fae in lore sometimes do pinky promises but that felt decidedly less epic so you got the blood oath instead. Unless the Blossoms kept Polly on as a servant, I couldn't imagine things even slightly working out for her. It's sad. Thankfully Betty has a nicer fae who can offer her a better future.


	3. ain't you my baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut. So many of you have had such fun and amazing guesses and insights throughout this story. Thank you so much for making this that much more fun to publish and I hope you enjoy this finale.

They don’t say anything for a while, walking hand in hand, and she can’t help but halfheartedly wonder if she’ll ever even see them again. Probably not, if the twins are living in the Vale. They might not even recognize each other in a few months, let alone a few years.

Sighing, she follows Jughead to the river.

He kisses her knuckles, lingering close. “Let me clean your wounds.”

“What about yours?”

“Jason barely made a mark.” Although there’s pride in his tone, a subtle flex, there’s a hint of resignation, too. She wonders what he’s thinking of, if it’s even all right to ask him, now.

There’s no real reason to protest any medical attention, so she sits, letting him wash her broken skin. He makes her some kind of natural bandage to press to her wounds. It’s cooling, at least, even if she still feels sort of numb.

Shoulders sagging, she watches him dutifully preparing the next set of strips. “I’m sorry I brought you into all this.”

The steady stream of water is the only sound as he pauses his ministrations, watching her intently. “I’m sorry for your losses, Betty.”

A cool shiver runs through her veins. She’s no stranger to sympathy, especially this past year or so, but this feels different, somehow. Like he doesn’t intend to pat her knee and walk along; this time there’s someone who wants to stay.

Someone who listens, who’s patient, who engages with her without asking for anything in return. Someone handsome and kind and funny and maybe just a little bit frustrating, but well-meaning and strong.

With a gentle wave, he scoops some water onto her calves, rubbing them after her long hike.

She wonders if Jason ever did this with Polly.

Probably not.

“Jughead...have you ever enchanted anybody?”

Blinking, he sits back on his heels. “Sorry?”

“Did you--I mean, didn’t you want to?” His lips part, but nothing comes out, conflicted clouds moving in his gaze. Her stomach tightens, but she doesn’t trust him any less. “Before. When we had our moment, you could have just...kept going. I was willing. I think I was willing.”

He hesitates, looking down at her ripped skirt, or maybe her thigh showing through. “I have never used a charm on you if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why not?”

_Because he didn’t need to?_

“I want you to do what _you_ want to do.” His cheeks color a dark mauve as he looks away.

Rolling her lips together, Betty kicks her feet in the shallows. “That’s...that’s kind of you.”

“You keep saying that.” The sloshing stream seems to get deeper as he wades back, water moving past them in glimmering wisps. “In the interest of being... _transparent_ , I _have_ enthralled people before.” Betty can’t breathe. “Never did anything physical with them. It was mostly…” He looks embarrassed, turning off to the side in search of a stone to throw. “It was mostly just to get to fresh pie.”

The breath she’d been holding erupts into a disbelieving chuckle. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s not like there are a ton of _pies_ in the Vale. Once in a while, if someone was about to catch me, I’d throw an enchantment, I’d eat some pie, and I’d...go away.”

“So you were stealing?”

“I was repaying them with an excellent story! How many people can say that their pie was so good they were enchanted by fae for a taste?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like it, don’t you?” He flicks his fingers through the water, sending a few droplets onto her skirt. Hesitant, he waits for her reaction. In some ways, she still feels like she’s catching up to him.

Her skirt shifts up above her knees. “I like you very much.”

At that, his expression softens, eyes taking on the same gentle glow as the sun. The corners of his mouth curve upwards, hooking into her chest, even as he tears his gaze away.

The fluttering of excitement works its way through her torso and makes her brave. Pushing off the boulder, she wades into the waters with him. It’s easy to tangle their fingers together, so good to be _close_ to him, strangely necessary now that she knows him and what he’s capable of.

His smile quirks in curiosity as he brings her hand to his lips. “How much do you like me, exactly?”

“Maybe I could show you.”

Inhaling deeply in anticipation, Jughead waits, analyzing every micro-expression on her face.

She leans in, kissing him softly.

It’s the right move, one that has him nudging their foreheads together, tenderly cupping the back of her neck, avoiding the nick behind her ear as they press successive gentle kisses to each other’s mouths. Licking his lips, he smiles. “This is a good start.”

She laughs, bracing his jaw before kissing him again. It’s not the grinding urgency she felt by the trees, more like her body is slowly trying to take flight, float into him. They make out languidly in the river until the light starts to fade and her own mouth feels swollen and sweet with his nectar.

Soon it will be dark and she’ll be hungry for more than just Jughead’s caress.

“I guess I have to go home at some point.”

Something like despair flashes across his face, grip tightening on her face and waist. “You want to go?”

Confused, she tries to read the situation. “You think I should stay?”

He hesitates, eyes flickering over her lips. “I...I _want_ you to stay. But…” He releases his grip on her dress, gently smoothing it with his fingertips. “You can leave any time you want. I’m not enchanting you. I’m enchanted _by_ you.”

“Jughead…”

Her heart feels so _full_ that she’s not sure what to do with it. If she’d been listening to this from afar, she’d think it was a line. For all the gratefulness she feels, part of her heart still feels hollow, ripped open by the betrayal of her sister. Pressing her forehead to his, she wonders if she could just _feel_ his thoughts or give him hers through touch.

His hands run up and down her sides. The excitement makes her want to sway with him, roll their bodies together until her whole body blooms.

Even her voice feels like it’s rumbling, making way for her lungs to expand and breathe in his perfume. “You’re amazing. I wish I could give myself to you.”

“What’s the hesitation?” he nearly purrs.

She sighs, turning her face away in regret. “I was supposed to honor my family today. Think of the fallen instead of strike down whoever was left standing. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love or lust or...just... _fall_.”

Stroking her hair, Jughead presses a soothing kiss to her brow. “I’m proud of how you rise. We’re even stronger standing together. You know that. You’re not dishonoring anyone by choosing to be with me, are you?”

“No. It’s just...the timing. Right now...I’m not sure I have anything good left to give,” she confesses mournfully, wishing she could just fall into his arms.

“Oh, Betty,” he murmurs, catching her jaw in his hand and running a reassuring thumb across her cheek. “You give your heart and soul to charity, and the rest of you, the best of you, baby, belongs to me.”

Lips parted, she stares at him, not fully sure what he means, even as his mouth presses gently on her forehead.

“I’ve been waiting for you, and I can keep waiting for you. As long as you need.”

Her throat feels tight and cracked. “Why?”

“When you’re ready, Betty, it’ll be the beginning of the end. A happily ever after far better than any fairy tale, and you’ll get to write it with me.”

Sunshine and shadows trace pockets on his handsome, loving, earnest face, her fingers following in their wake.

“That sounds like a beautiful story...or maybe...maybe it _could_ be our reality.”

“It will be. It’s waiting for you,” he promises. “ _I’m_ waiting for you.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers, pulling him closer. “I’m here. I’m yours.”

The next kiss isn’t soft. It’s biting, ripe like he’s going to get right down to her soul and flood her with this.

And yet...she craves more.

Hand curling in the bramble of his hair, Betty twists her body around his. A moan of approval vibrates along her lips, Jughead’s hand firmly grasping the fleshy cheek of her ass through her dress, then haphazardly pulling her skirt up so he can get underneath.

“Jughead,” she gasps, not sure if anyone else can see, desire spiking through her veins.

“You want this, baby?” he asks, grinding what feels like another limb against her stomach.

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck and hopping up as he supports her, aligning their centers as he carries her to the banks.

Her back hits the giving ground, dust curling up and away from them. The smell of grass and earth and Jughead’s perfume overwhelms her, makes her run her hands all over his body in a fever she can’t sweat out. His lips leave a trail of simmering need under her skin.

“Please,” she begs, arching her hips up. “I need you.”

He groans her name, hot kisses lingering down her neck as he pulls the top of her dress away, unweaving it until her breasts are bare before him. She’s almost ashamed of how ripe they look. They’ve never felt so swollen, even though they can’t possibly be larger. But they _ache_ to be touched, and Jughead _knows_...Jughead _feels_. The harshness of his palm gives way to sucking pressure from his mouth, her already pink nipples turning almost plum under his attention as if her blood is drawn anywhere he touches.

Arching her back, she looks up, trying to reign in her wanton panting.

“Don’t be ashamed, baby. I love you this way. I love you all ways.”

Then, as if to prove it, Jughead moves down, holding her hip through the tear in her skirt, and rids her of everything underneath until his steaming breath hits her cunt.

Gasping, Betty kicks out.

“I’ve got you, Betty. You want me? You want relief?” he asks, bunching the material of her dress across her hips, breasts still out and ready to be played with. The shine in his eyes reminds her of the warm glow of the sun on the river reflecting vibrant color of the sky.

“I want you,” she affirms, choking on another gasp when his fingers run through her slick.

Keeping his molten gaze on her face, Jughead brings a sample of her honey to his lips. “I want _you_.” As he sucks his fingers clean, her thighs tremble, ready to fall even more apart.

“Please,” she begs, crying out in gratefulness when his fingers resume their place and they push inside of her. As they curl, her whole body does too, tightening.

It feels like she’s coming alive.

The earth may as well rumble and roll under them, his hands pulling a rhythm from her breast, from between her legs. As his thumb rolls over her clit, she feels lightning spark behind her eyes.

“Jughead,” she chokes, so beyond afraid of this oncoming storm.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, working her, tapping the very inside of her. “I’ve got you, now and always. I want to feel you come for me.”

It almost burns. She turns her head to the side, small sunspots blooming behind her eyelids.

“You like this? Does it excite you to know how I’m inside of you?”

She groans, nodding, rocking against him.

“Aren’t you my baby?” With a desperate cry, she agrees. “My pretty baby.”

There are other compliments, other words of encouragement, but she can’t make them out. The storm approaches, the swell of impact, the white-hot strike of lightning through her veins until she’s rumbling with the power of thunder, a sheen of sweat erupting on her skin.

Amidst the trembling, she feels his mouth, the hottest burn of all, soaking up whatever manages to come out of her slit. Anxious to give it to him, she keeps up their little dance, the pressure holding him tightly along with her hands in his hair.

_Ravished_ , that’s how she feels, her legs falling open in exhaustion, her hips sore from the strain of her own personal storm. She’s so exhausted that she can barely move, yet when she sees Jughead’s glistening lips and dark eyes, she nearly gets pulled under again.

Her beautiful fae crawls above her, knees level with her waist as he sits up, waiting for her.

Always waiting, he’d said.

She pulls away the leaves and vines separating her from the mound of flesh straining up like a lightning rod. It feels good under her nails, the earth, his skin.

A piston draws her eye amidst the solid base of his body. She’s never seen a man up close before, but he is magnificent. It’s not scary at all, not something she thinks would hurt her. Following her instinct, she kisses its base, revels in the low, repressed groan that rumbles in his gut. Her tongue darts along his skin. It’s not salty, like hers. It’s sweet, and when she sucks, it’s the slightest bit tart at its tip.

“Aren’t you my baby?” he repeats, stroking her hair to see more of her face, to keep it out of her way.

Nodding, moaning, she wraps her hand around his base, the other pulling the swell of his bottom closer so she can get him further down her throat.

Swearing, he encourages her, rocking his hips ever-so-slightly so she can control the pace. Gagging doesn’t bother her. Neither does her own spit. Everything feels _good_ to her right now, his flesh and words an anchor amidst her rapture.

“Careful of the...I’m close,” he warns, knees shifting on either side of her hips, making her feel like they’re moving the world again.

Sucking with renewed vigor, she sits up even more, humming and pumping in hurried gasps and pants.

His hips snap hard into her hand, his grip clamping onto her shoulder, her neck. The pulse of his body rocks through her, a sharp nectar shooting into her mouth. At first, she swallows but more keeps coming, and the suction of her swallow pulls her off his tip. Shocked, she chokes a little on the gift, pulling back and looking up at his wild expression as he continues spilling down her neck, her breasts.

It’s sticky and she wants to rub it along her tits, managing the slightest handful, smearing his tip along her tongue and lips. Coated in him. Spread before him like she’s hoping his own nectar on her body will lure him back again.

There is no way to frame the way he looks at her. The sun burns itself out behind him, his wild curls askew, practically his own crown, and she sees why a lover like him might be considered a _king_. His thumb follows his slick into her mouth as if to press his seed under her tongue. She sucks on him, closing her eyes, relishing the way he twitches in her palm as she takes in the aftertaste of what must be her own tangy sweetness.

His voice rumbles low, powerful enough she thinks he could move stone, summon the heavens. “Betty.”

Opening her eyes, Betty locks onto him.

There’s never been such assured purpose she feels deep in her bones. To be unclean. To be loved by him.

He runs his hands down the slick on her neck, smearing it down over her other breast, rubbing a rosy nipple in its path. Lightly grazing his thumb with her teeth, she wonders what’s supposed to happen next.

Jughead comes down and moves his thumb just enough to capture her mouth in a rough, hungry kiss. Just as she starts catching onto his lips, he pulls back, eyes wild and focused on the mess of her breasts. He pushes and plucks them with either hand.

“One more,” he murmurs.

“One more what, Juggie?”

“One more for now.”

With that, he crawls back, hooking her thigh over his shoulder and burying his face against her slick while his hand smears his own into her skin.

She thinks her cries ring out for miles.

~~~

The whole sky seems to fade into purples and pinks. As they pass the tree she _thinks_ was his original throne where they met, she notes some of the rosy blooms have already opened as if to paint the sky with their pale pigment.

Jughead’s arm is steady around her back. Although she’s sore, slightly tacky from his seed despite their haphazard bath in the river, the memory of which still makes her shiver in satisfaction, she’s happy. As happy as she can be, as she has ever been.

“Maybe I should feel guilty,” she murmurs sleepily, tucking her head onto his shoulder.

“For what?”

“Being happy.”

His fingers rub her waist in gentle reassurance. “If that’s what you feel, then that’s what you should be.”

Not entirely sure what she _is_ , Betty clings to his waist. “Guilty?”

“Happy.” He rubs her shoulder, waiting until she looks up to give her a kiss. “Being with you makes _me_ happy.”

“Me too,” she admits. “I like...I love being with you, Juggie.” The quiet chirp of insects reminds her how much closer they’re getting to the meadow. “I don’t want to go home alone.”

“So don’t.”

“Don’t?” she repeats, trying not to smile. Feeling too shy to look him in the eye, she wraps her arms around his neck and looks to where his heart is kept instead. “Will you come home with me?”

Almost sheepish, he chuckles. “I meant...you should make your home with me.” Taken aback, she blinks up at him.

“When you said you wanted me to stay, you meant... _stay_? Like, here, in the forest?”

“My presence in the enchanted forest is temporary,” he explains, trying to cradle her closer again. Her heart clenches in fear at the thought of him _leaving_. “Now that we’re properly _acquainted_ ,” he flirts, nudging her nose with his, “I want to take you to the Vale and have you live with me forever.”

“Wait... _what?!_ ” It’s not polite, and it’s barely coherent, but it’s all she can manage before her confusion fizzles into words. “Jason said he couldn’t take Polly.”

At the mention of the Blossom King, Jughead’s expression momentarily sours. “Jason _wouldn’t_ take Polly. It’s different with him and his sister. They think humans are playthings. I _adore_ you, and anyone amidst our acquaintance would respect and cherish you as well.” He plants a kiss on her hairline, stroking away the still-damp strands of her hair. “Not the same way I have, but they’ll know you’re the one I’ve seen. Humans have goodness in them the same way fae do. Some of us are just better at seeing it than others.”

“You’ve _seen_ me?” She tilts her head up, clasping her hands firmly around his neck again, slightly lost in the rocking motion he cradles her in.

Hesitant, he swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing. “I...I’ve seen you, Betty. Before today. You’ve seen me, too.” She shakes her head. There’s no way she would forget a beautiful fae like him. Even the ones she saw from a distance are imprinted on her brain. “I didn’t look like _this_ at the time.” He smiles indulgently. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”

To her mounting confusion, he plucks a flower from a tree and places it behind her ear, regarding her warmly before tilting her chin up with a finger and pressing a softly barely-there kiss on her lips.

On instinct, she closes her eyes. The feeling is familiar. Warmth. Joy. Sweetness.

But that’s from _today_.

Then it’s more of a graze, mouths closed, his lips brushing on hers, replaced by the gentle brush of his thumb before he pulls away entirely.

As she opens her eyes, watching his eyelashes flutter over a swirled purplish-blue, it hits her like a burst of fresh air.

“ _My butterfly_.”

“Yes. Yours.”

Another kiss comes as a reward, a firm one that has her up on her toes to keep them firmly pressed together. She doesn’t want to stop, keeps ricocheting back into him, the tangy sweetness that has her sated and hungry in the same breath.

When his smile curls against her mouth, her lips collide with teeth and seem to reconnect her thoughts to reality.

Her heart pounding, she tries to roll back on her heels to _speak_ instead of kiss. “Was this fate, then? Did you... _see_ me?”

“I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when, but I knew. I _knew…_ ”

Tears spear down her cheeks. She presses her ear against his chest, holding him tightly.

Breath feels ragged and prickly in her chest. “Why didn’t you come to me before?”

“I tried. I swear to you, I tried.” Urgent kisses pepper her hair, her cheeks, even her ear. “It was never the right time. You were hardly alone, and when you were, you were so focused on your tasks that you barely even noticed me. It was just easier to watch and wait until the moment seemed right. At least I could take comfort in knowing that no matter when it happened, one day, we’d be partners for life.”

Laughing in disbelief, she looks up at him. “I can’t believe you waited for me. That must’ve been awful.”

“Well, at least Polly chased off most of the boys, so I wasn’t tempted to deal with any of them on my own. I’m not sure if you knew, but your father actually sprinkled salt into the sod of your walls. Made watching you a lot harder than it should have been. At least when he threw out your nest, I was able to snag a little souvenir.”

Surprised, she gapes at him. “You _kept_ it?”

He noses into her hair, breath warm on her ear. “I have discarded locks of your hair in a little nest for us in the Vale. When I’d have to go home, I’d think of the day when you’d be there with me.”

The idea of him waiting in the wings for her while she lived her ridiculous life makes her heart hurt. She can’t imagine the self-control it must have taken. Scratching lightly at his back, she looks him deeply in the eyes. “Jughead...I’m so sorry you had to do that alone.”

“Neither of us will have to be alone anymore. Are you ready? To come to the Vale with me?”

Although it’s not like she has much to stay here for anymore, a part of her still hesitates, clinging to him, to this life. “Would we ever come back? I’m not sure what to pack, or if I should sell my home, or...I don’t-I don’t _know_ ,” she worries, imagining appearing in a magical grove full of people so beautiful and glowing and she’s just standing there in her torn skirt with leaves and balms stuck to her skin from where her sister tried to maul her. It doesn’t make a great first impression.

“What are you afraid of?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Taking a deep breath, Betty tries to focus on the stars, on the meadow just beyond. “I’m...still not sure I’ll fit in there. It’s silly, I know, because...you’ve _seen_ it, and even just from today I know that I’m going to be happy with you, it’s just…” Admitting it feels like admitting she’s weak. “It’s strange, knowing that I’ll always be the most imperfect...the _weakest,_ the _ugliest_ one.” Jughead’s eyebrows raise up in alarm, but she figures she might as well be honest with the person who is undoubtedly her future husband. “I’ll age and die while everyone else there will be beautiful and eternal and...I guess I’m a little ashamed.”

“Betty, you will _always_ be the _most_ beautiful to me,” Jughead insists, grasping her shoulders. “You have been, and you _are_.” Although he’s probably biased, the declaration makes her cheeks feel warm. “And if you’re worried about aging, as long as you’re in the Vale, you’ll be like me.”

“Like you? Like…” Her gaze travels along the pretty veins on the side of his face, delicate lines and tangled hair.

“Magic, baby. You won’t age. When I said _forever_ , I meant it. You and me... _forever_.”

This time she _knows_ the sparkle in his eye is affection, that it’s a promise. The world around them seems to melt and sway with his smile.

She’s lost everyone she’s ever loved. _Everyone_. But looking at this magical, wonderful, man, she lets herself hope that maybe there _is_ a chance for a happily ever after.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, heart full of wonder. “I trust you.” Elation washes over both of them. He sweeps her up into his arms and spins her around until she’s clinging and laughing and begging to be put down. “We can’t go _yet_. There’s something I want to do first.”

“ _What_?” he complains, exasperated.

“For one thing, I’d like to change,” she answers, kissing the corner of his mouth and leading him back to the meadow. “And for another, I have something at home I think you’ll like.”

“Everything I want is right here,” he insists, pulling on her hand. “You don’t need to change.”

“Juggie, my skirts are ripped, I’m still scabbed over with healing ointment. I just want to wear something nice.”

“I’ll get you something _there._ Or make it. _Or_ you could just be naked,” he teases, lurking closer for another kiss.

“Jughead, let me get my dress!”

“Fine,” he acquiesces, gripping the edge of her torn skirt. “This is ruined, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So you wouldn’t be upset if I took some liberties with it?”

Thunder cracks far-off in her heart. “No,” she answers carefully, watching him watch _her_ as he takes the fabric and slowly rips it down the seam until one side of her leg is almost entirely exposed. “What are you doing?”

His eyes gleam hungrily in some deep, dark satisfaction, ready to tear again to get a strip of it. “For our nest.”

“Juggie…”

She knows this shouldn’t be the place of their first union. But it’s the place they first _met_ , the place they had their first “kiss.” The edge of one lifetime into another.

“I want to be with you,” she says softly, hands gently curled into his hair as he bends down to carry her to a flowery bed. Right by a bounty of daffodils. The scent overwhelms her. They kiss with the bursting tart pressure of strawberries building under her skin, his hands hard on her ribs. “Please,” she whispers.

As he slides back to push away her skirts, she draws her legs back. Jughead waits, watching in tense anticipation as she pushes him onto his side, then his back. Angling up to kiss her, hold her, Jughead groans when Betty shakes her head, pushing him down to the ground to remove the loose straps of her dress and expose her breasts to the sunshine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lost, eyes shining. “Please be mine.”

With a sharp nod, Betty readjusts on her knees, loving the way his fingers caress her bare shoulders, the way he lets _her_ free his length, stoking it beneath them until she’s ready to grind. They grunt at the slick satisfaction.

She _knows_ it will be different, that this is anything _but_ a gentle butterfly kiss. But she wants it all the same. She wants everything.

She gasps at the fullness of the sensation, of the _heat_ of him firmly taking up whatever sacred space is inside of her.

_The rest of you...the best of you...baby, belongs to me._

She’s full. She’s gone. She’s with him, rocking and clinging as the world tumbles in their embrace.

_Aren’t you my baby?_

His hips rock up into hers, and she’s barely coherent enough to even register his palm on her cheek, fisting her hair and tugging when she won’t open her eyes to look at him. The intensity mirrored in his gaze makes her shudder his names.

Although his touches linger all the places that she wants, she thinks she’s too overwhelmed by sensation to come again like this. It’s like her whole body is humming and throbbing under his, bursting with color and static tingling.

With knowing, probing eyes, Jughead curls a fist in her hair, one hand on her hip, and guides them to their own little oblivion. As his body pulses into her, she whites out, each blink feeling like a glimpse of ecstasy. Shuddering, she comes down around him, vaguely aware of the world fading back into its normal beautiful colors, her knees sore and aching, legs pressed with blades of grass and dirt. Their own scent overpowers the perfume. She’s still so dazed that she just keeps leaning over Jughead’s beautiful face, loving the way he looks up at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then leans up to pepper her chest with his affection. Sensitive, she pulls back. It’s like she hungers for him even when he’s still inside of her. The world seems more beautiful when he’s framed within it.

“I love you,” he tells her reverently. “I’ll take care of you.”

Eyelids feeling heavy, but her body still bursting with energy, she nods. “I trust you. We can take care of each other.”

They spend a few more minutes entwined in their own little pocket universe until she sees the pink start to fade from the sky. “Let’s go.”

Frowning, Jughead lends her a hand as she stands and wipes off her dress. “Are we going to your home?”

“Yes.”

“One more kiss.” He tugs on her arm to pull her back into him, smile curling just before their mouths meet. Something flutters against her lips.

Gasping, she shoots back, the purple-blue wings of a butterfly hovering where her lover had been.

“Jughead!” She laughs, relieved, barely able to resist swatting at him for the trick even as he nests into her hair. “Fine. I suppose since you carried me, it’s only right that I do the same.”

The walk home doesn’t feel lonely or solemn at all. There are flowers for her father’s tribute they collect on the way, her heart full with her new constant, devoted, companion as they make their way under the light of the moon.

“Will you be safe?” she asks as they approach her home, not sure if the salt still seeps into the walls. The butterfly flaps its wings and remains settled in her hair, so she moves forward. Everything seems fine, Jughead occasionally fluttering around the kitchen and watching curiously as she works with the bag of dried apples, slicing. He even tries to land on her finger, kiss the juice from her fingers.

“Stop that,” she chides, completely submerged in a warm, satisfied feeling. “Or at least be... _big_ when you do that.”

He readjusts, fluttering back and behind her until she gasps at the suddenness of his shadow creeping up behind her.

“I guess I’ll have to get used to your tricks.”

“You’ll never get _used_ to them, baby,” he murmurs, kissing her neck.

“We have a _long_ lifetime ahead of us, then.”

Sucking on her skin, Jughead’s hands creep to her bare thigh under the open slit of her skirt. “Yes, we do.”

They get so distracted that the pie almost doesn’t happen it all, and then it almost burns, but at least when it’s done, Jughead’s eagerness is worth the effort. His hair sticks up at odd angles, eyes wild and bright. Grinning, she watches him take the first bite.

His eyes close, lips pursing as he chews reverently. “Oh, Betty, if it wasn’t foretold already, this pie would be enough to make me want you as my wife.”

She pushes a sweaty lock of hair behind her ear, pleased. “I bet you say that to all the pie-makers.”

“Only the one I’m going to marry.”

They kiss, the apple syrup sticky on each other’s lips. It’s strange, sleeping with him in this house, knowing it will no longer be her home.

In the morning, she hangs the flower tribute for her father, for her sister, too, she supposes, and says goodbye to the house that had for so long been her home. She sends letters to help with arrangements so no one thinks she’s been abducted or murdered and walks through town one last time.

“You can still come back,” he murmurs, finger curled in her hair, hiding behind a wall of canvas.

“I know. But things will never be the same. They’re already so different.” When she catches him studying her, tense, she assures him with a hand over his heart. “ _Good_ different.”

They kiss before he erupts into a butterfly again, and he doesn’t shift back until they’re in the meadow and he’s frolicked to his favorite flowers.

Even though they’re grounded on the earth, she feels like she might as well be standing at the edge of a cliff over an ocean, about to take some great plunge into its depths.

But then he looks at her, and the water seems welcome.

They weave each other flower crowns, threading them with devotion. As he places the blessing upon her head, she’s submerged in a sense of _love_. Dew clinging to her eyelashes, she crowns him as her prince, and in some strange, soul-rending way, feels like she’s just declared him her husband.

“Shall we, baby?” He offers his hand, eyes glinting with the clearness of infinite blue sky.

Her fingers skid over his palms, linking into his. She takes a deep breath, his perfume the fresh hit of clarity she needs.

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure some of you are like, "TELL ME MORE OF THIS SERPENT PRINCE/KING BACKSTORY" but I purposely left him a tiny bit of a mystery and I hope you love him and will hypothesize head canons with me anyway in the comment section. For example, his price is basically paid in pie. I think that's magnificent. Betty's home will probably be repurposed for the fae to play in when they're visiting the human realm, or maybe donated as a library/orphanage/nature habitat of some kind. So many head canons. So little time. The most important thing was to make sure we knew that these two were going to love each other forever. And they will. Thank you for your support and I do hope you let me know your thoughts in the comment section below.

**Author's Note:**

> How are you feeling? Any imagery or scenes stand out from the meadows to the woods? Guesses about where we're going on this journey? I'd be most grateful for your thoughts, because as you probably know I basically thrive on Bughead love and support haha. Comment here or tumble with me at @lovedinapastlife


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